Pawnless
by Cue's Quill
Summary: When he died, the board was reset. Pieces realigned. Commanders reassembled. And while his invitation to the rematch remained largely indisputable, the position he played was unfamiliar at best. What is one to do, after all, when one's former seat has been taken?
1. Chapter 1

_Edited 6/22/2017 - Made changes to ages and years to preserve continuity for future chapters._

* * *

"You're not much of a small talker, are you?"

Lelouch glanced at his opponent – a blonde flanked by two bodyguards – from his position across the table. The words hadn't entirely registered, attention having been distracted by the monochrome board between them, but from the curious look in the aristocrat's eye, he caught onto their implication. The man was losing, after all.

He advanced with a knight.

"Forgive me if I've shown a tendency to prefer silence. I've never seen this game as one of the verbal kind."

The man snorted involuntarily, clearly bemused by his sardonicism, but lacking the heart to reply in kind. Instead, a glance into amethyst irises and a cock of the head served as sentiment, something that soon segued into another inquiry.

A pawn was pushed forward.

"Sure, sure. That's perfectly understandable. It has something to do with your eyes, right?"

Lelouch blinked hard before responding, seemingly caught off guard by the question. It was a fair analysis though. In a high-class casino crowded by orbs of blue and green, violet tended to attract an unsavory attention. Only quick games, in his experience, made it hard to amass a crowd.

He palmed his rook.

"In part, yes. It's unfortunate, I suppose, that my fondness for colored contacts has decayed over the years."

A short bark of laughter rang through the air, a reaction that even puzzled the man's security detail. A sense of humor maybe, but black's commander possessed threats on the board that had previously left their employer in a prolonged state of sobriety. Yet as of now, a white knight was being raised with an almost lackadaisical air about it.

And went on offense, instead of defense.

"Quite! Yet all the same, wouldn't discomfort be better than sharing a resemblance with the Britannian Emperor?"

A singular eyebrow rose on black's side of the board, wrinkle lines bemusedly noting white's heightening voice. It appeared that multiple heads had turned in their direction, no doubt antagonistic toward rumors of alleged ancestry. And, even less subtle, were the guards' small smirks of cognizance – expressions that all but replaced their former befuddlement.

Slowly, a hand was pulled back.

"Perhaps. But those implications are usually resolved with further discussion."

The man nodded obligingly, studying Lelouch's latest move with an almost lackadaisical air. Typically, a rook battery playing skewer was a practical choice, forcing players with even the slightest prudence to retreat mid-siege. Yet in this case, those furrowed brows of disgruntlement only lasted for a moment.

"Ah, good. It would have been a shame if people didn't tolerate _emphatic_ expressions of nationality."

Glancing slightly to his sides as to signal his security detail, the blonde slowly reached for the white queen near the center of the board.

"That's check, by the way."

Lelouch's eyes narrowed, violet orbs piercing through a turbulent sea of monochrome. From a third-party's standpoint, the response should have been immediate – a knight fork followed by a pivotal capture. But those violet irises remained for a minute, sifting through both on and off-board animosity.

Until suddenly, he and two others shifted their hands to their waists.

« Oi ! Vous deux êtes trop tendu ! »

The blonde's underlings shared a moment of relaxation, eyes slowly shifting from Lelouch to their employer. Evidently, the former's gesture had broken the fragile tension, for the surrounding company had adopted an arched brow. And, although the latter was quick to recover it, the superficiality was almost blatantly evident.

"My apologies. Those two must have found your movement… peculiar."

Lelouch slowly nodded, hand slowly sliding away from his side. His opponent's lip had twitched upward ever so slightly, no doubt because of the off-board blunder. But even with the waters tested, and the bait taken, there was little room to do anything but humor an intrigue.

The way he grasped his king was familiar enough.

"I see. Then before I move, may I venture off-topic? Are you familiar with anyone with the moniker, 'The Black King?'"

The veiled smirk quickly became a frown, though it appeared more out of confusion than hostility. A delicate hand, after all, was one for headrests and meditation.

"I'm afraid not. Is that, perhaps, the name the masses have given you?"

Black's commander snorted, a sound that offered more complexity than just mere amusement. A full-on rebuke could have sufficed, but ambiguity, to his understanding, had always been the friend of melodrama.

"Oh, no. We're quite different people, he and I. Though you two, on the other hand, share an admirable commonality."

Wistful eyes watched as black's king toppled on its side.

"You both have control of the game before it even begins."

* * *

Lelouch had almost laughed at the irony.

Japan was independent. The Holy Britannian Empire had only conquered 1/3rd of the globe. The world had yet to even experience conflict between superpowers, barring the 20th century, and all nations had a vested respect for each other's ideologies and policies.

Truly, it was the kind of world that he had died for. Fought for with the wish of his sister in mind. For all intents and purposes, _this_ was the ideal end-result of his blood, sweat, and tears.

And yet, he was faced with the fact that his interference couldn't have mattered less.

A glance at the date had confirmed that. September 5th, 2005. The anniversary of his death – almost twelve years too early. What appeared to be a perfect macrocosm proved itself neither parallel nor futuristic, but instead, served to only aggravate a necessary, yet impulsive inquiry.

How?

Certainly, geass was a noteworthy candidate. A thorough search of his body for puncture wounds had revealed both a scar and a Code, no doubt instrumental in his resurrection. Nevertheless, the revelation remained dumbfounding, and although a stolen Code by way of his father became a rational hypothesis, it still did little to reconcile a chronal displacement.

There was, after all, no _true_ master of time. Even Rolo, whose powers had required a significant impediment to be equalized, had only altered perception. For him to have transcended such a barrier, it would have required more than mere volition. It would have meant supernatural, perhaps _divine_ interference.

And that, he had found, was all the more unsettling.

The Collective Unconscious, although saved by his hand, was surely no stranger to his sins. The crimes. The atrocities that he had committed to craft his ideals. They were all actions worthy of inferno, and yet such a reality could only be described as paradise. For this to be justifiable. Conceivable, even; there had to be but one conclusion.

This was a blessing of the cursory kind.

Eventually, that sentiment was investigated. Curiosity, always the exploratory trait, had driven him to search for sidebars. Fine print in the benediction he had called a second chance. And – as libraries were often supplied – there were two discrepancies he found that had borne fruit.

The first of which, proved he was nothing. This was a world that knew neither Zero nor Demon Emperor, but, instead, a new personality – Alexis vi Britannia. For the first time, Lelouch faced the idea that his very existence was extraneous and, as such, he was struck with an estranged sense of isolation.

The emotion, traditionally speaking, wasn't foreign to him. Ever since his mother's death, cynicism and detachment had been constant travel companions, keeping him from any lasting social obligations. Yet despite this covertness, he had always appreciated the idea of knowing that, for better or worse, he had hundreds of friends and enemies intertwined in his life.

Now, however, they all belonged to a different version of himself. A younger, naïve, and, by all intents and purposes, congenital version of himself. Without warning, Suzaku could no longer be befriended. C.C couldn't be confided with. And, most importantly, Nunnally couldn't be his own.

He was, as far as he could tell, alone.

And in Europia United, no less.

Such was his second revelation. And although more expected given his new environment's gaudy architecture, he was by no means complacent. Britannia's antithesis, despite being the object of his admiration throughout his younger years, felt distinctly alien. And it certainly didn't help that its ideals of democracy were overshadowed by bureaucratic tape and corruption.

Ultimately, however, such epiphanies couldn't leave him melancholic forever. Code, although remarkable for its survivability, made him a target in this situation. And, although his purpose was overwritten by another, his distaste for the Ragnarok Connection had remained largely unperturbed.

It was only natural, then, that the route to assimilation would maintain certain familiarities. Additional currency remained the fastest path to a European citizenship – even if the means were less than legal – and, as such, lucrative gambling habits resurfaced. Soon, the few British pounds in his wallet had become a significant sum in Euros. And, in turn, he gained his fair share of connections and animosity.

The first instance of the latter had, naturally, occurred in an underground venue, A few losers, jaded after losing to an 'arrogant' Britannian, had sought to recover their losses with less than peaceful means. And, despite being capable of defending himself, the experience acted as a watermark for future endeavors.

Simply seeing the spasms. The screams of men whose minds were violated with a touch. It struck a hauntingly nostalgic chord that unnerved his very core.

The handgun, therefore, had acted as an alternative. It had been out of no small effort on his part to obtain – Britannian blood was, if anything, an inhibitor – but avoiding an aspect of immortality's curse had given him a certain peace of mind. Nevertheless, such fortune was only temporary, and while Code plagued him little in terms of characteristic, sentimentality persisted. If he had stooped so low as to find comfort in a firearm, and for reasons other than safety no less, what did that say about his sanity?

Truthfully, he had already known the answer. With the suffocation of seclusion, once usual pursuits had become joyless. Violet orbs dismissed both novels and tribunes alike. Gambling exploits found themselves more annoying than satisfying. Even chess – ever the Imperial family's passion – had begun to offer less and less emotional reward.

By living a life of the ordinary, he sacrificed the extraordinary. And although at one point he had wished for nothing more, the mind he possessed was not fit for such inactivity. It needed excitement. Melodrama, to survive. And without proper motivation of will, he could only resort to physical distractions.

It had been on one such outing, several months after his arrival, that he was handed a rather ornate political flyer. Bradow von Breisgau, the golden lettering read, was hosting a rally against European decadence, and had invited all walks of life to come and support.

He, of course, had heard of the man in the photo. Breisgau was a name synonymous with 'assemblyman' and, although he was no Zero, the similarities in both ideology and background were remarkable. They were both of the Britannian aristocracy. They were both charismatic demagogues. They were both empathetic with the cause of the weak.

But, as his own experiences reflected, The Man of Miracles had never been an idealist.

And as he walked from that street corner with a new sense of purpose in his steps, Lelouch couldn't help but chuckle at his own zeal.

It had been a long time, after all, since his curiosity was peaked.

* * *

He found his arrival to be uneventful – just another face in a diverse sea of proponents. The rally seemed to have a surprising temperance toward prejudices in European society, and kind, curious, and genuine expressions acted as a refreshing change to the expected antipathy.

In the minutes following his assimilation, he'd experienced almost exactly what he'd hoped for from Europe's most infamous rebel rouser. A down to earth personality that garnered support without manipulation. A charismatic rhetoric that drew even the most reclusive to applause. He'd even, to an extent, expected the critical antagonists that lay in the background of the assembly. A testament to his internal problems as both Emperor and Zero.

What he hadn't expected was the extent of the factional contrast, especially when the actual opposition was considered. Aristocrats, despite being powerful, should have lacked the numbers to offer sizeable resistance. Yet as it seemed, Breisgau hadn't accounted for the effectiveness of extortion amongst his congregation.

The full extent of such issues would later be confirmed by way of passing conversation. As a more cynical patron put it, "Breisgau's balancing act only makes for a superficial unity." And indeed, by replacing intrinsic social connections with promises of economic egalitarianism, there were more than enough holes for corruption. A simple bribe, after all, served well as a sort of instant gratification.

He supposed it wasn't all Bresigau's fault, however. By approaching the problem of disunity idealistically, there were only so many options to choose from. It was the very reason why he'd had reservations at first about Zero's successorship. About Euphemia's Special Administrative Zone. And even, in a darker point of his life, about Nunnally's gentle world.

It would only be after Breisgau's speech neared to a close that he considered accompliceship as a possible solution.

It was strange, he supposed, that he had even considered such a thing. There was, in fact, a time that he vowed to bear the curse of geass alone. Yet with his own wisdom, combined with the man's quixotic hopes and dreams, he could only wonder if Breigsau could accelerate his past self's goals – even without Requiem.

It was during these hypothetical musings – and they were certainly _hypothetical_ – that Lelouch had noticed a white cloaked man shove his way amongst the crowd, with a leather briefcase in one arm, before pausing in front of a small clearing. He would have dismissed the interloper's entrance as nothing more than melodramatic fashion sense – as did many others – if not for the fact that paranoia had proved a reliable, if not unfailing instinct in the past.

And, while he had envisioned many plausible scenarios pre-investigation, the sight he beheld on the man's person was decidedly _not_ what he expected.

A golden necklace with the insignia of a bird in flight.

He could barely let out a curse before the first explosion shook the courtyard – a red hot fireball that quickly enveloped the cobblestone expanse. Pain and anguish soon became the prevalent emotions amongst the crowd, and while the shockwave's shrapnel still dug sharply into his skin, the robed man – now outfitted with a firearm – wasn't waiting for him to finish hesitating.

Biting back a grimace of pain, Lelouch took a step back to brace himself. Then, two gunshots rung through the air.

Only one, however, was his own.

The crash of skin upon stone brought him little comfort, and as he looked toward the area that the deceased gunman aimed, his apprehension was only inflamed. Breisgau, the man who had turned European politics on its head, had crumpled to the ground – and the majority of his security detail was nowhere to be seen. Only two figures, both of which he had inferred to be women, were sprinting away from center stage.

Biting back another curse, Lelouch's eyes shifted to survey the chaos around him – the dilemma causing his indecision becoming more apparent by the second. Parisian military men, without knowledge of geass, would be hard-pressed to catch any of the gunman's co-conspirators. Yet at the same time, the lack of ambulance sirens also foretold the fate of the only visible survivors.

It was a debate between pragmatism and emotion if he had ever seen one. And while his psyche had naturally leaned toward the former, a second glance toward the fleeing party made him freeze in his tracks. The smaller woman, now more clearly defined as a child, had both curly, blonde hair and light violet eyes. Features he had once associated with…

 _Nunnally_ _vi Britannia._

Expectedly, his hesitation only lasted another second after that.

* * *

"Leila…"

A girl, no more than nine, lay struggling in the snow – the carnage of a car wreck contrasting the otherwise serene environment.

"Mama?"

The girl's mother, hair messy from caked blood, struggled to pull her leg from the crumpled car door. A gas fire, after all, was slowly cutting the pair off from each other.

"Leila… honey. I need you to listen to me, okay?"

A final, failed tug spoke more than words could ever dream of. And as the woman ceased her struggle, a resigned smile came about her delicate features.

"You need to run."

"R-run?"

The child finally managed to rise from her fall and, when she did, widened eyes met those of surrender.

"Yes Leila. I need you… to get away from here."

A frozen stare lasted for another precious second before transforming into a vehement headshake.

"N-no! I won't just leave you here!"

The smell of smoke was slowly becoming all the more overpowering. And once the mother's fit of coughing died down, her façade began to show cracks of desperation.

"Please… just do as you're told."

"No! I won't do it!"

"Leila…"

"I won't-"

"Leila!"

The woman's lamenting shout quickly silenced the girl, the latter finally having noticed the tears in the former's eyes.

"I don't want you to suffer the same fate your father did."

A choked gasp emitted from the child's throat – lips having been pursed with raw emotion. Then, with a hard blink, her resolution was revived.

"F-fine. I'll… go get help! Just make sure you stay safe, okay?"

The girl's mother took a relieved breath, her smile being both artificial and genuine at the same time.

"Of course. Now get going."

The child nodded slightly before taking off, her breath shaky all the while. And, as the still collapsed woman watched that figure disappear from her sight, she could only hope that the latter wouldn't stop running.

Though little did she know, two others were already close on her tail.

* * *

Tracking footprints, C.C had learned, was an undertaking that never ended well.

Of course, it wasn't the principle itself that was flawed. Her proficiency at the task, after all, was never really in doubt. It was simply the psychological or, rather, the nostalgic part of her that ruined the affair. The silent walks making reflections surface without any real, conscious effort.

And this time, unfortunately, had been no different.

Granted, she had been quick to reminded herself that she never _directly_ approved of V.V's plan. His brainchild, the Genesis Program, was something that she had simply perceived to be a work-in-progress. An experiment aimed at impressing her, the Geass Order's Director. Yet even so, when the boy had walked into her office, lips tight and full of tension, she had still felt a sense of self-deprecation that overpowered her emotional callouses.

Anger.

Anger toward the political consequences of an assemblyman's assassination. Anger toward the planned assimilation of child geass users without sanction. And anger toward the fact that the target in question reminded her all too much of a hopeless servant girl, lost at the church's doorstep.

"… Tch."

It may have been, now that she looked at it again, that her actions had been too childish for her age. Impulse was hardly something her nostalgia had any right to aggravate, and even now she was much too tired and much too selfish to play the role of a mother. Yet at the same time, the tenacity and determination oozing from each footprint she had tracked had to be worth something in respect. Something in admiration.

Something in love.

Perhaps then, if her newfound maternal bias was any indication, declaring a special interest in Leila Breisgau and, by extension, revoking V.V's authority, had been the right choice after all.

But as she brought her attention from reminiscence and back to the current scene before her, she could only think of how unexpectedness had ruined any of her potential contrivances.

Two figures, one easily identifiable, and one less so, appeared to be sitting across from a fire along the banks of a frozen pond. Leila, so it seemed, was hardly exhausted from her run in the forest, appearing to retain some – if not all – of her dynamism, despite the occasional flicker of angst. An earth brown blanket, too, had wrapped itself around her, radiating life amongst a world of white.

The opposing figure, on the other hand, served as an almost perfect antithesis to the former. His lanky frame and slouched position, although unexceptional, seemed to give off a weariness beyond his apparent years. Whereas his visage of absolute calm, while laced with bits of concern, appeared to hide secrets that were best left unspoken.

Secrets, she suspected, that had to do with his almost supernatural aura.

"Now then, since you've finally warmed up, would you be willing to give me your name?"

The man's position shifted slightly, the flames dancing across his face having exposed the earnestness of the inquiry. Now that she had a better look at him though, she couldn't help but notice the uncanny resemblance he shared with Marianne's girl – Alexis. The fair complexion. The raven locks.

The amethyst eyes.

"My… name?"

Leila's brows furrowed slightly, her eyes glazed over amongst a mix of concentration and suspicion. Finally, she spoke.

"How about you tell me yours first."

For a second, the man almost looked taken aback, as if not expecting the wariness coming from the newly orphaned girl. Perhaps C.C too would have lightly laughed at the display, if not for her own desire to learn more about the enigma in front of her.

Though then again, no amount of curiosity would have ever prepared her for his response.

"Very well. My name is Lelouch Lamperouge."

* * *

 **A/N: Alright so here it is. The first chapter of one of my experimental projects. Thank you to S. Silea for inspiring my initial characterization of Lelouch. It was one of the most brilliant I've ever seen, and I couldn't help but draw in some elements from "Topple Your Kings."**

 **In any case though, a few notes to consider for this story. As one might have noticed, the ages here are a bit different from canon. This was done purposefully as, in the original series, many of the main character's ideals were forged by the time they were 10. To me, this seems like too early of an age to make such a defining decision and, as such, I've made every character three years older than they would have been originally. (ie. by time of Marianne's assassination in 2009atb, the main characters will be 13). And yes, that means certain elements, such as Ashford Academy, will be treated differently. Hope this acts as a refreshing change of pace!**


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean you _haven't_ found her?"

The two men flinched nervously in front of their superior's desk, knowing full well that their window of response was short. The rustling of red and blue uniforms, after all, had cut too cleanly over the silence.

"Our apologies General Smilas. It's just that Leila Breisgau's body was never found near Claudia's.

Slowly Smilas shifted in his seat, the golden epaulettes of his uniform reflecting the blinding rays of sunshine. Then, hard green orbs met shaky blue.

"And pray tell, gentlemen, how an injured child could have vanished from car wreckage in the middle of the Forest of Fontainebleau."

The sound of shuffling feet and squeaking shoes only played intermittently now across the marble floor. Yet its grating quality was still not lost amongst the surrounding company.

"I… I'm afraid we don't know sir. Either the falling snow masked the footprints, or someone else covered her tracks."

The irritated twitch of Smilas's brow was only emphasized by the resulting silence. And once the wrinkle lines reached their peak, the two soldiers could only brace themselves for the oncoming onslaught.

"Leave. My. Sight."

The words were few but powerful, and as the men feverishly saluted and passed through the mahogany doors, Smilas still lay frozen in annoyed concentration. Only the occasional whisper outside his office broke him from his reverie, and even then, it hardly helped his state of mind.

"… Tch."

Slowly Smilas leaned forward, his forehead resting squarely on his brow. Perhaps, he mused, he was acting too harshly toward his men. Their excuses seemed earnest enough and, in fact, the entire crime scene surrounding the affair was, in a word, unprecedented.

But even so, Bradow and Claudia were two of his closest friends. He owed it to them to at least find their daughter, Leila, a girl who held more potential for intelligence than even some of his lieutenants. It was, after all, the honorable and, by extension, pragmatic thing to do.

Especially when none of the Breisgau's had been properly avenged.

Indeed, such a fact irked him even more than the aforementioned. Not only had the organization behind the terrorist attack been declared an unknown, but the primary gunman had also been shot under mysterious circumstances. None of his men, despite his vehement interrogations, had even admitted to doing the deed – something he could hardly bring himself to rationalize.

Though it certainly didn't help that a persistent knocking sound kept interrupting his meditation.

"Ah, excuse me General Smilas, but Senator Absolon is requesting an audience with you."

The words rang through his head for what seemed like an eternity. And once it became clear that his secretary was still waiting for a response, Smilas begrudgingly lifted his head.

"Very well. Give me a moment."

Gradually, the footsteps withdrew from his door. And as Smilas deliberately rose from his seat, his guise finally set itself back to that of a soldier's mask. The world, it seemed, wasn't waiting for him to realign the past. If he truly wanted answers, he would have to do it himself.

And so, once the doors swung open and two polished boots hit the hardwood floor, only one thought rang through his mind.

' _If diplomacy was too fragile to craft the world, militarism will have to be its maker.'_

* * *

In hindsight, he should have expected she was a Breisgau.

He had seen them, of course. The light purple eyes. The blonde hair. They were all features that were shared by Bradow himself. Yet due to the chaos of the attack and, by extension, his fervent emotions, Lelouch had let such fine details slip his mind. Something he supposed was blatant, as his reaction had induced a slight chuckle from the girl.

Nevertheless, while it was heartening to see a crack in another's mask of sobriety, one had immediately formed upon himself. Leila, given her absence from her mother, was a newfound orphan – a fact that held significant power over his heartstrings. And while he wanted nothing more than to humor her request about her mother, he couldn't help but be wary of the flash of green that he had seen out of the corner of his eye.

Or, more specifically, what it implied.

Eventually, however, sentimentality won out over paranoia, albeit in a different form than expected. While he hadn't taken Leila back to the place where her mother lay, he had walked her back to a place where she could recover fully. And, more importantly, discretely.

His residence, to be exact.

The place was modest enough. At least by his income's standards. The one-story complex barely boasted an acre of land, and was merely outfitted with conservative furniture and decorations. But he still enjoyed the Parisian countryside that was his backyard. It was, in his opinion, much more refreshing than the urbanized environment closer in.

It seemed Leila shared a similar sentiment, albeit it was harder to tell given her countenance. On one hand, there had been a sense of mature tranquility about her, even after she was informed of her parents confirmed demise. Granted, the girl had still cried, as she had spent an entire day cooped up in one of his guest rooms, alone. But slowly, she had grown to enjoy his company – if only for the fact that she felt grateful for his hospitality.

On the other hand, however, he couldn't help but feel a growing concern over the developing fire in those violet eyes. The flames – ones that had begun to take shape ever since her withdrawal from grief – were almost too familiar to him.

After all, he too had shaped his misery into vengeance as a child.

Fortunately, however, those flickers of fervor were fleeting in most instances. Once the girl had found his library, she had elected to spend most of her time immersed in novels of all kinds. Such devotion was greatly admired by his person, and frequently they would have chats ranging from political philosophy to tactics of war.

Indeed, the girl was certainly growing on him emotionally. More often than not he would find himself worrying over her person during gambling exploits or walks to town. And, while such feelings were unnecessarily stressful, they had enlightened him on the parallels between his treatment of Leila and his treatment of Nunnally.

And truly, he wasn't quite sure that was a bad thing. Especially when those moments of purpose were complimented with withdrawals from isolation.

It was during one of his trips back home in December, however, that a schism between the two's relationship had showed itself. Leila, in an unexpected change of pace, hadn't been found in the library, but in the living room. Her eyes, previously sated by curiosity, having been reignited in full force.

"Lelouch, tell me. Do you know who killed my parents?"

The question had caught him off guard for only a second, as foresight had already prepared him for such an inquiry. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but pause slightly as he weighed his words.

"No, I'm afraid not Leila."

The sentence tasted bitter in his mouth, but years of practice had made him a proficient liar. Yet even so, he had still felt a certain truth about his inaccuracy. Despite knowing of the organization responsible, after all, he had his doubts that C.C approved such an atrocity.

Though based on the narrowing of eyes across from him, he wasn't the only one that maintained a degree of skepticism.

"Fine."

Quietly, Leila turned around and left the room, no doubt frustrated by his apparent ignorance toward the matter. Perhaps, he bemused, he should have given her some sort of lead. A way to satisfy some of the tension building up inside of her.

But if he had done that, he would have fed a flame of vengeance. A flame that would have consumed her very destiny. And while some might have argued that his experience would have made him an adequate teacher, he knew this child was never meant to be another version of himself.

Not when an angel could be just as powerful as a demon.

It was during these musings, however, that he had almost missed the soft tap of footsteps coming from around the hallway. Leila, now walking back to the room, was simply radiating determination – a stark contrast to her previous demeanor.

Yet what was perhaps more surprising was what she now held in her hands.

He knew that object. Its glassy, monochrome design. Its ornate pieces. That set was typically left untouched in his library, yet now it had been dropped with a thud onto his oak table.

And so, all he could do was stare dumbfoundedly into orbs of mauve.

"Then if that's the case, teach me how to defend myself."

A blink. And then another. And then, after a while, a small snort of amusement.

"... Very well. I'll play black."

* * *

"I suppose my present is the only one left then."

Alexis gently smiled, taking in the amused faces of Cornelia, Euphemia, Clovis, Schneizel, and Nunnally. Having her birthday party in the garden of Aires Villa had been her mother's idea. The green grass and warm sunshine making the event positively therapeutic. She was slightly disappointed, however, that her father couldn't come. Diplomatic matters, she resignedly supposed.

"Alright then Schneizy. Guess I can't prolong the inevitable forever."

Alexis giggled, clearly amused by her brother's appalment toward the nickname. It had been something she and Nunnally had come up with, she recalled, during a sleepover with Euphie.

Clearing those pleasant flashbacks from her head, Alexis set back to the task at hand. Schneizel had always given her the best presents though, so her anticipation made tearing through the silver wrapping paper quick work.

And, as such, she was not disappointed.

"Oh, Lexi dear, isn't that chess set beautiful?"

Indeed, her mother was right. The glassy, monochrome design and ornate pieces were truly wonders to behold. Once again, Schneizel had proved himself as her favorite brother in the Royal Family.

"Ooh! Ooh! Lexi how about we play a game?"

But unfortunately, he still placed second in the competition of favorite _sibling_.

Sans Nunnally, of course.

Slowly, Alexis turned to face Marrybell mel Britannia, a girl whose eyes always appeared to be laced with wonder and jubilance. Born from a commoner like she had been, Mary had known how it felt to be ostracized by aristocracy. Yet while that commonality had set the foundations for their relationship, Mary's bubbling personality was what kept it together. Unlike herself, after all, Mary had turned her anger toward Britannian society into gratitude that she was even a part of it.

Indeed. In a word, the girl was a magnet. And therefore, it was only natural that Alexis's apologetic smile toward Schneizel would reveal her attraction toward it.

"... Very well. Go on. But we'll all be watching the match, Lulu."

Sticking a tongue out at Schneizel for his use of her own nickname, Alexis quickly ran off with Mary; the surrounding company rising from their seats and following a half-minute later. Soon, a picnic blanket had laid itself out on the lawn with a chess board placed squarely in the middle. And, once sides were chosen and Nunnally was placed on Alexis's lap, the game began.

The initial phase of the match was played methodically. Almost unconsciously. Common moves for common tactics, with neither player willing to sacrifice a piece. Indeed, while it may have seemed unnatural for someone like her to play passively, she was well aware of Mary's cunning. Behind those wistful orbs of orchid, a calculating gaze pierced through. And to underestimate it was a fatal mistake.

By mid-game, however, certain distractions had begun to grate on her concentration. Whispers between Euphie and Cornelia spoke of chess's technicalities. Remarks from Clovis and Schneizel quietly critiqued and questioned the pair's strategy. Even Nunnally, who was supposed to be the most passive spectator present, had naively picked up and played with her used pieces, much to her comedic dismay.

"Well would you look at that. Lexi's getting sloppy!"

"… Quiet, Mary."

The loss of her bishop, as well as the sing-song remark, was injuring to both pride and stoicism. But it had at least made for a clear head, as well as a renewed resolve.

A resolve that translated to a prolonged battle of attrition.

Soon, seconds had turned to minutes, and minutes to hours. And, by the time the game had hit one and a half of them, only Schneizel and her mother remained on the sidelines. It was bit disappointing, she supposed, that much of her audience had left for more "entertaining" endeavors. But, the fact that the game had the potential to be brought back to her favor was more than enough compensation.

All it would take was an experimental trap she had designed a week before. One, she mused, that deserved its own tactical philosophy given its audacity.

Yet before she could so much as touch her black king, a voice suddenly pierced through the air.

"Marianne, we ne need to talk."

Whipping her head around to face the sound, Alexis couldn't help but flinch slightly in surprise. It appeared that a woman, no more than twenty by looks alone, had suddenly appeared to her mother's right. Yet what was perhaps more curious than the circumstance was the sense that she got from her. She had never seen the individual before, those green locks would have stood out in her memory if she had, yet after gazing at the mysterious tattoo on the girl's forehead, she had the nagging feeling she should have.

"Gah! C.C, I thought I told you not to sneak up on me like that!"

Quickly shifting her gaze as to not meet amber orbs, Alexis quietly observed her mother's stunned reaction and, by extension, her siblings' shrewd stares. It seemed no party was safe from unsettlement in this scenario, albeit based on her mother's sigh and apparent familiarity, Marianne was still the most comfortable with "C.C."

"Oh well. I suppose it can't be helped. Boys and girls, I'd like you to meet one of my friends, C–"

"Marianne, I'm serious."

The mood shifted again, with tension more palpable than the last. This time, her mother had adopted a tight-lipped frown, one that was almost uncharacteristic given her playful persona.

"… Very well. I'm sorry Lexi, but I'm afraid your mom has some important business to attend to right now."

Slowly rising from her place at the picnic blanket, Marianne began walking side-by-side with C.C, her retreating form finally disappearing inside the Aires Villa. The remaining siblings, however, were left in an almost tangible silence, unsure of how to best respond to the events they just witnessed.

Fortunately, however, Mary spoke for them.

"So, uh Lexi. Do you happen to remember who's turn it was?"

Alexis blinked hard before turning to face Marrybell, her mind having almost forgotten the reason why they were out in the first place. Luckily, a quick glance to the board saved her from responding with an inaccuracy, and as she cleared those extraneous thoughts from her head, she readied to reply that the piece was hers to move.

Perhaps though, if she had waited a moment longer before absorbing herself back into the game, she would have seen Schneizel's lips move ever so slightly.

"In which game, Mary?"

* * *

In the end, she had chosen not to confront him.

It was, after all, uncharacteristic of her to go to such lengths over simple suspicion. That man – Lelouch as it were – was a person that could've been explained away with coincidence, even _if_ his surname shared a commonality with royalty. Such was her train of thought when she had left that night without a word, as was her line of thinking when she had arrived back at the European Thought Elevator.

Though granted, she couldn't have exactly prepared for the déjà vu that had hit her afterward.

The occurrences came in stages. Curiosity having taken its time to slowly gnaw away at her indifference. At first, she had outright rejected it, too shocked to believe in her own susceptibility to distraction. Then, she had ignored it out of spite; her psyche unwilling to concede to the enemy that was her own mind. But finally, once she had given in to the reflections that ceaselessly bothered her, she couldn't help but grow perplexed by the implications that she had originally missed.

Implications that had been born from the coupling of his stoic presentation and preternatural semblance.

Indeed, while she hadn't quite recalled meeting someone with those striking, amethyst eyes, she couldn't help but feel a strong sense of sentimentality every time she envisioned Lelouch's gaze. And, while a century's old recollection would have explained her hazy memory, she had known better than to believe that there were more than two natural Code Bearers in the world.

It was because of this, therefore, that she had left her office in Europia to take the first plane back to Britannia. Granted, Marianne wasn't the best person to consult for matters such as these – that she knew. But as much of her intrigue was too personal to divulge, the visit still served an important purpose. The sating of one of her initial suppositions.

"So, what was it that you wished to talk about C.C? Was there a complication in Ragnarok?"

Brought back from recollection to reality, C.C blinked hard before facing Marianne. The woman hadn't changed much since she had last saw her, she noticed. Aside from the newfound wrinkle lines across her brow, that sly demeanor had still stayed resolute as ever.

"Fortunately, not. However, there's a different, more personal concern that could be worth your attention."

A level gaze became an arched brow as violet orbs met those of amber.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

Slowly, C.C leaned back against the wall of Marianne's office, her eyes taking in the raw curiosity, bemusement, and anticipation. She could only wonder how those emotions would change, however, once she had finally said her piece.

Or at least that's what she _would_ have done, had the words not died in her throat.

"Oi, C.C! Are you alright?"

"I'm… fine."

The wave of nausea took its course, and after another moment C.C finally freed herself from the wall. Yet while the physical ordeal had concluded, she had still failed to rationalize the technicalities behind her mentality.

There was no apparent reason, after all, as to why her subconscious had suddenly cried out _'betrayal.'_

"Are you sure? You look positively pale."

"I'm _fine_ Marianne."

Closing her eyes tightly, C.C tried to clear away her excess thoughts, the burning sensation from her Code dying down a moment later.

"Well... all right. I suppose if you're ready to tell me then, I'm all ears.

Sighing ever so softly, C.C opened her eyes, her subliminal-self having finally been separated from her conscious psyche. Perhaps, being that she had the time to review the situation, she could have told Marianne that she was, in fact, not ready to tell her. Intuition had always been one of her defining traits, and more than ever it had been screaming at her to drop this decision. To cast it aside and leave the name known as Lelouch Lamperouge out of the limelight.

Yet at the same time, whenever she looked into Marianne's puzzled eyes, she could only think of how she had lost too many battles to her own reservations.

Something that, unfortunately, held more power over her than the will of a man she had never truly met.

"... Tell me Marianne. You wouldn't happen to have a relative I don't know about, would you?"

* * *

 **A/N: Characterization, parallels, and dramatic irony – oh my! Yes, this chapter is certainly full of it. And while it's still part of the exposition, I did try my best to sprinkle in melodramatic one-liners to keep you all entertained.**

 **Anyway, just two things to note before I send off. One being a concern that I'm predicting, and one being a concern that addresses a reviewer's misunderstanding.**

 **Regarding the former. Yes, in what will no doubt be a controversial move, I have added characters from** _ **Oz of the Reflection**_ **. But at the same time, this isn't something I have done in a stroke of unplanned, creative liberty. The storyboard for** _ **Pawnless**_ **has already been created, and Marrybell's implementation (as well as Oldrin's eventually) is a calculated move. This is an EU story, after all. And these characters are not only instrumental to the plot, but also to some characterization that will hopefully be refreshing to CG Fanfic.**

 **Now, as for the latter. Lelouch DOES NOT have both Geass and Code in this story. The potential for misunderstanding was brought to my attention by a reviewer, and given that I mentioned "mental spasms" in Chapter 1, I feel I should apologize for any confusion. Those "spasms" were simply referring to Code's ability to induce traumatic visions, not Geass's potential for mind control. After all, Lelouch isn't exactly going to be a "king" in this story. Or at least not in the traditional sense.**

 **Anyway, that's it from me. Hope you've enjoyed things so far, albeit from now on chapters will be coming less frequently. Less free time, so it seems. Also if some of the characters are unfamiliar to you – don't worry. They'll be characterized and explained so it won't ruin the entertainment. I also try my best to read your reviews, but it should be noted that some of them don't seem to be showing up correctly on the site for me.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Edited 6/22/2017 - Made changes to ages and years to preserve continuity for future chapters._

* * *

"I have another favor to ask of you, if you don't mind."

The dark-suited woman stood against the casino's wall, eyes upturned at the ceiling. Her cerulean eyes still hadn't locked with this client's, but it didn't matter. The voice of this one wasn't easily mistakable.

"Hmph. And how many favors does that make this now? Three?"

"Four, actually. But taking our history into account, the score still remains two in my favor."

The words were cordial, yet authoritative. But she didn't care. Amusement was all the jab was meant to garner from her, after all.

"Yes, well, remind me to never associate myself with charismatic gamblers like you in the future."

Her eyes finally dropped to take in the frame of her discourser.

"So then, what was it you needed me to forge? Another firearms license? Or perhaps a housing lease?"

Soft footsteps echoed as a manila folder was passed her way.

"Actually, I was hoping for something more along the lines of identification."

A calloused hand pulled out the files, interested eyes slowly perusing their contents. What they found, however, had made her brows rise ever so slightly.

"Leila Lamperouge, hmm?" Her eyes looked up inquisitively. "And you're sure you want this girl to share the same surname as you?"

Her client's ebony bangs parted, giving way to piercing, amethyst eyes.

"Well it wouldn't be much of an adoption paper if she didn't it, now would it?"

* * *

It had been her idea; to make the stay permanent.

Lelouch had protested, of course. Warned her of the political and social consequences. A Breisgau, he had maintained, was too important to disappear completely from the limelight. But Leila had known better than to accept those repercussions as absolutes. Lelouch always had a plan, it seemed. No matter the circumstance. So, while she had understood the obstacles in the way, she had also refrained from discounting the merit of insistence.

And indeed, while he had never admitted it, she had known that Lelouch's apathy would inevitably lose ground. Ever since their first chess match, after all, their relationship had only grown stronger. She had become his sense of purpose. A canvas that he could paint his wisdom onto after having lived in isolation for so long. Whereas he had become her bastion. A guardian who could empathize with all of her struggles, even those from her past.

It had been because of this, therefore, that she had finally read the golden lettering of her new identity on her 11th birthday. The triumphant grin she had sent his way following soon after. Lelouch had sheepishly defended himself, of course. Argued that he had only done it because the certificate was a formality. And, while he had been right to believe that the piece of paper held no emotional power on its own, he had been wrong to assume that it didn't contain potential.

But she had been too ashamed to admit the reason why.

Indeed. While love's augmentation may have been her primary motivation for the surname's adoption, securing liberty had always been her second. The latter wasn't a desire of the absolute kind, of course. She enjoyed Lelouch's company too much for that. It was, instead, a yearning that manifested from her own character. Her distaste for relying completely on others. And, while she had made her first attempt a year prior – when she had first learned the game of chess, she hadn't been blind to the opportunities that the surname Lamperouge maintained.

She had argued on his behalf before completely committing, though. Telling herself that his overprotectiveness wasn't inherently coercive. Lelouch, at least from what she had gathered from the snippets of his past, had not been treated kindly by fate. His parents, despite their best intentions, had died when he was young. His half-siblings, despite being related by blood, had turned their backs on him. And his only true sister, despite his love and care, had been lost to him years ago.

But, as her subconscious continued to remind her, it hadn't excused the parallels that Lelouch had drawn between herself and his last connection to love. They were two different people, she and Nunnally. And while Lelouch hadn't explicitly said it, she had the slightest feeling that his coddling wasn't born out of necessity, but out of fear. A fear that Nunnally's past ordeals would come to shape her own experiences.

Eventually, therefore, she had resolved herself to the idea of establishing herself as an _independent_ entity. Granted, her request hadn't been as melodramatic as it could have been. Nor had it been an outright display of formerly concealed emotions. But even so, with the help of the certificate, it had gotten her point across. That despite her love and appreciation, she still had the desire to operate without him.

Indeed. She had asked him if she could go to military school.

It was amusing, she supposed, how beside himself Lelouch had gotten over the seemingly simple request. His immediate response, after all, had questioned whether the flaws in his teaching style had been the cause.

To that, she had replied in the contrary. She was a growing girl; her reasoning had explained. And while he had been a fantastic tactical mentor, she still required social interaction with children of her own age.

Then, his protests became methodical; targeting physical and hypothetical concepts alike. Warfare, he had argued, was hardly as romanticized as it seemed. Not to mention that other interested parties had the potential to take advantage of her identity.

She too, had a counter to that. Her parent's murder, after all, had been graphic enough to give her a stomach for war's atrocities. Not to mention, she had added with a smirk, that she was no longer a Bresigau. By all intents and purposes, her only relation had rested with him.

Lelouch had paused after that, seemingly stumped by the latest exchange. But finally, after what seemed like half a minute, he had met her gaze. If she was set on enrolling, he had drawled, he wouldn't actively stop her. But before he could voice his direct approval, she would also have to prove her strategic ability.

Or, namely, beat him in chess.

Naturally, she had voiced her gripe about the situation. Lelouch was a virtuoso. A man who spun the strategic into an art form. For her, an apprentice, to defeat him, it would require nothing less than a miracle.

But, as Lelouch would mirthfully reply, miracles weren't limited to the divine. He too had beaten his mentor in chess when it had mattered most. And, he was quick to remind her that _she_ had requested his help regarding "self-defense" a year prior.

And so, in an act of begrudgement, she had set up the board.

Some years had passed since then. She was thirteen now. A little taller; a little wiser; with blonde hair flowing well past her shoulders. Expectedly, she hadn't won a single match. Nor had Lelouch offered her any concrete advice for success. Yet in what was almost an irrational display of fervor, she had still attacked the board with the same gusto that she had during that first attempt.

And so, as if honoring her tenacity, fate had granted her a change in record on January 7th, 2009.

* * *

"Hmph. I'm impressed. It looks like you've finally forced a draw."

Leila leaned back in her seat, her eyes exhausted, yet mirthful. It had taken her a long time to get this far; Lelouch having made a point of leaving her in silence after every loss.

"Yes, well, this _is_ my first tangible trace of progress."

Lelouch chuckled softly before folding his hands onto his lap. His appearance hadn't changed much throughout the years. But the tired smile he sent her way had spoken of his own patient anticipation.

"Indeed. Yet by the way you say that, it almost seems like you're waiting for a prize."

She paused at that; her pursed lips carefully weighing the implications of the statement. Finally, however, she responded in the affirmative.

"Well… perhaps I am."

Lelouch hummed, a sound that captured both amusement and thoughtfulness.

"Then perhaps I could offer a sort of consolation." A raised hand signaled restraint. "Not what you're thinking, of course. Maybe just a word of advice of your choosing."

Her eyes, although crestfallen, still glinted at the words. An opportunity had presented itself, after all, and she took it without hesitation.

"Then can you tell me what each piece means to you?"

She fixed Lelouch with a probing stare, and waited as he paused in thought. Her question, perhaps, may have seemed unconventional given the circumstance. Yet from her constant study in Lelouch's library, she had known that it had merits beyond that of a simple strategic inquiry. Emotions, after all, were much more powerful inhibitors than ineptitude. And this would help her to understand a large majority of them.

"Very well. I suppose I can grant you that much."

She watched expectantly as a black pawn was plucked off the board.

"The pawn, as I see it, is much more than the early-game fodder that you use it as. True, controlling the center early with them is advantageous. But, if they manage to survive the sacrifices of war, they have much more power through their promotions and formations."

A wordless nod was her only response.

"The knight, by the same token, is equally paradoxical; in part, due to its misnomer of a name. Granted, its unpredictability gives it some unique defensive angles to work with. But, at the same time, its strengths truly shine when its offensive approaches are considered."

She gave another sign of acknowledgement.

"As for the bishop and rook, my point of view also varies greatly from yours. After all, to me, both are used most efficiently in discouraging opponent movement. Yet while my experience disagrees, I must admit that your own offensive procedure has its strategic advantages."

A small flush of pride met her features before she focused again.

"Regarding the queen, however, your tactics could use some work. Yes, while it is the most versatile piece on the board, its movements are also the most predictable. Efficient use of it requires temperance in its defensive actions. After all, just as in real-life, the queen has her own ambitions to consider."

She thoughtfully paused before motioning for him to continue.

"Lastly, then, is the king. The most _important_ piece on the board. And yes, while it may seem logical to defend its person within a bastion of subordinates, such a tactic severely underestimates its potential. A philosophy I was once told fits it best. If the king doesn't lead, how can it expect its subordinates to follow?"

She blinked at that, her mind still absorbing all the information for her own use. Lelouch seemed to catch on to her entrancement, however, and smiled lightly.

"So then, I suspect that this will assist you in all of your future endeavors?"

She was quick to respond in the affirmative, her psyche all too pleased by the resulting influx of knowledge. But, at the same time, there was a small inconsistency that had been bugging her. One that she chose to bring to Lelouch's attention as he prepared to reset the board.

"So… Lelouch."

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering… you said that the king should always lead his subordinates, right?"

He paused at his task, amethyst eyes finally meeting her mauve orbs.

"Indeed."

"Then was there a particular reason why you didn't move your king this game?"

The question was an innocent one; meant to discern the differing strategies the king could employ. Yet while she had expected his hesitance regarding another exhibition of secrets, she hadn't quite predicted the absolute silence and sharp intake of breath that followed.

"Lelouch?"

Even with her strained ears, she barely heard the nearly inaudible response.

"No… it was just a foolish mistake, Leila."

* * *

When Lelouch was a child, Schneizel had once questioned his approach toward chess.

It was perplexing, his half-brother had mused, after having secured another victory over his king. Why did his strategy reflect his philosophies so predictably, even when it was obvious that he had the capacity to adapt?

To that he had replied, with a thoughtful look in his eyes, that a victory without his principles wouldn't have been a victory that he could have called his own.

Yet now, as he continued to pace about his private study, he could only wonder how many laurels he had claimed without heeding to that very sentiment.

Indeed. How long had it been, after all, since he had arrived here, in this alternate timeline? How long had it been since he'd experienced the thrill of the extraordinary? His initial assessment of this world had identified the implication of restraint, yes. Yet looking back on it now, his refrained consideration for the future – the very thing that he had denounced both his father and Schneizel for – seemed nothing less than absurd.

Yes, truly, if he hadn't known better, he would have thought that he had unwittingly geassed himself. The mindless acceptance of his ordinary life, coupled by his incredulous degree of hypocrisy was almost too out of character for someone of his disposition. Yet as he continued to meditate on the implications of that chess game; that reluctance he had toward even moving his king; he could only wince at the fact that shifting blame would be a fruitless effort.

It had been his own self-pity, after all, that had separated him from his individuality. That irrational sorrow toward having lost his former relationships to another that had overwhelmed his rationality. He had even, after thinking on it long enough, recalled himself deciding to wait on a sign to spur him into action. Rationalizing that Kallen had been the one who had pulled him out of his purposeless depression when he'd thought he'd lost Nunnally.

"… Tch."

Honestly. How _incapable_ had he been these three years?

True, he had lacked a concrete connection to his past life; the very one that he'd died to preserve. Yet the opportunities he had at his disposal should have acted as signs of purpose from the start. He had the power over _mortality_. The knowledge of past, present, _and_ future. And yet he had brushed off those gifts that he had been given as a cursory blessing. A curse he was not fit to bear.

It was simply pathetic, now that he looked at it in hindsight. But even that didn't compare to the delusions that had shaped his current lifestyle. After further consideration, after all, it had become painfully obvious that Leila Bresigau had been the original sign he had been waiting for. She was the antithesis to his past methods. The idealist with a wit that matched his own. And yet he had misinterpreted her purpose as one that remained independent from his past. Misinterpreted her function as an invitation for him to live out his ideal, ordinary life with an alternate "Nunnally."

Ultimately, it was a missed opportunity if he had ever seen one. Yet what was perhaps the most disturbing, was that he could understand his reasoning behind it. With every smile Leila gave; with every flutter his heart made; the lines between his happiness and intent had blurred perfectly. Truly, there had been no way that rationality could've convinced him of the temporariness of his paradise. No way that his subconscious could've brought out the uneasiness toward his circumstance. And no way that even Leila, the object of his ambition, could've persuaded him to enroll her into school.

After all, he had simply been too bent on sating his isolationism.

"Ah… Lelouch? Can I come in? Since you said you weren't feeling too well, I made dinner tonight."

Shaking his head slightly as to clear the last of his reflections, Lelouch paused just shy of his eleventh rotation around the room. He had been ruminating for quite a while it seemed. The clock on his desk read seven thirty-six in the evening. But, that was hardly justification for a complaint. Now that he had fully assessed the mistakes that had led up to his epiphany, after all, he had finally felt an emotion that had been deprived of him for far too long.

Confidence.

Or, more specifically, confidence in his next move.

"Oh! Sorry about that Leila, I didn't mean to worry you. Here, give me a moment to finish up something, and then I'll meet you at the table."

Throwing himself onto the leather chair in front of him, Lelouch booted up his laptop, his ears listening thoughtfully as the last of Leila's footsteps echoed away. He never enjoyed lying to the girl. Given her impact on his life, she at least deserved honesty on his part. But, even so, what he was about to do was much bigger than their relationship.

A flurry of typing was heard as he sifted through numerous web browsers at once.

Of course, he knew that heeding his newfound insight without abandon would provide less than desirable results. The chess game that he had been resurrected to, after all, had already chosen its players. Yet, at the same time, that didn't mean that he couldn't play another position _off_ the board. The potential to act as the catalyst for all moves made in the future, after all, was just too fitting to be out of his reach.

The tapping of fingers abruptly stopped then; amethyst eyes taking in every bit of information on screen. Then, a familiar smirk bore fruit across his face.

"Well, what do you know?"

By the looks of it, he would just need to make a phone call to get it all started.

* * *

"Charles, I have a request."

He sat calmly, the curled cord of the phone wrapping around his finger.

" _Speak then, brother."_

"It's about C.C's directorship. Ever since her last visit to Britannia, her emotions seem to be having an undeniable influence over her polices."

He heard a sigh over the line. _"We've talked about this before, V.V. What she does with those fantastical delusions of hers is beyond my control."_

"Yes, but this time I'm not asking for you to reason with her." He paused, so his brother could process the words. "What I'm asking is whether or not you'll back one of my private projects, even if I, hypothetically, didn't have the Director's authority."

"… _Those are still some dangerous waters you're treading there, brother."_

"Granted. But, the way I see it, the opportunities that could be gained far outweigh the consequences."

" _And what are those opportunities exactly?"_

"The Genesis Program," he drawled deliberately. "I seek to reactivate it."

The silence that followed the declaration was deafening. But, after a half-minute of pensive deliberation, a click of the tongue was heard.

" _Very well. You have my approval, if only for my own intrigue."_

He grinned slightly. "Fantastic. I shall keep you updated on the progress, then."

" _See to it that you do. Now, was there anything else that you wanted to bring to my attention?"_

He pondered the question for a moment before speaking again.

"Well, there is _one_ more thing." The stillness over the line told him to continue. "A few days ago, there was a geass related incident in Japan. One that we're now calling Code-Z."

" _So, a disturbance in the Ragnarok Connection?"_

"No, it wasn't the contracting of a geass user." He paused to shape his words. "It was more like a manifestation of the subconscious itself."

" _A manifestation, hmm? Could the Collective be making their move against the sword, then?"_

"It's certainly not out of the question. But, if you want my opinion, I think the only concrete danger being posed is the resulting being's potential to produce other geass users."

" _So we could have an artificial Code Bearer on our hands. Now that is interesting–"_

Suddenly the sound of his brother's reply cut out, replaced instead by the clicking of a door and the muffled voice of a woman. After a half-minute of background noise, however, Charles's voice finally restored itself.

" _My apologies brother, but I'm afraid we're going to have to cut our conversation short. Marianne just arrived, and she's requiring my undivided attention."_

"I... see." Lavender eyes narrowed. "Shall we continue this talk tomorrow then?"

" _Yes, let's."_

The receiver fell dead at that, and he calmly placed the phone back on its stand.

He supposed he could have expressed a more visible annoyance, given that Marianne still consumed the majority of Charles's time. He was the man's brother, after all. The accomplice who had shaped his destiny as Emperor of Britannia. Not someone whose charms had only manipulated lust.

Leaning back in his chair, V.V stared intently at the ceiling above.

But at this point, the opportunities at his disposal now were far more important than an affair that would be _dealt with_ in a few months' time. And honestly, who could blame him for thinking such?

"Now then," he said to no one in particular, "how should I approach this?"

* * *

 **A/N: And that's the third chapter! An edition that marks the beginning of the end for not only the exposition, but also these horrendously long author's notes. Though, just in case my first author's note wasn't read, I'll give another reminder. EVERYONE'S AGES ARE THREE YEARS OLDER THAN IN CANON. My explanation for such can be found at the end of Chapter 1.**

 **In any case though, while I'd love to comment on how fun it was to write this section – from Leila's complicated personality to the FORESHADOWING of Lelouch's piece analysis – the reason for this subscript pertains more to defending myself, than anything else.**

 **And indeed, it makes sense for me to do so. After all, going through with a three year time-skip after having talked about character development appears to quite hypocritical.**

 **So, let me explain.**

 **Yes, while it's true that most time-skips are executed in a way that not only sacrifices characterization, but also creates plot holes, it's also true that these instances are done with the intent to get to the "fun part" of the story. And, while I will admit that this time-skip helps us proceed with the first bits of the rising action, the following chapters are hardly what I envision to be the story's climax. After all, it's only 2010. We still have seven years before Alexis even** **gets** _ **involved**_ **(directly, at least).**

 **So, with that being said, don't fret over the idea of a characterization failure. This time-skip, while executed early on, doesn't sacrifice much in the way of plot opportunities. After all, the characters I introduced in the previous chapters need Alexis's exile to accelerate their own development. And, as for the ones that I** _ **haven't**_ **introduced yet, I stand by the fact that they only become relevant in 2010.**

 **Anyway, that's been my two cents. Chapter updates will** _ **definitely**_ **be slowing down now, being that Christmas Break is nearing a close for me, but I'll still be reading your thoughts and opinions in the reviews.**

 **Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

"I was surprised, you know. That you were willing to come to dinner."

Lelouch cast a fleeting glance to where Leila sat across from him. The girl's eyes were distracted from maintaining contact, electing instead to focus on the beef stew on top of the table.

"After I asked that question about your king… you seemed shaken. I know you said it was nothing, but I still want to apologize."

Raising her head tentatively only to see him completely unperturbed, the blonde bit her lip and tried again.

"I really did overstep a boundary, didn't I? Honestly, I-"

He raised a steady hand, then, stopping the girl mid-sentence. Perhaps, in hindsight, the gesture may have been ill-fitting for the anticlimax that followed. But he'd never been one for receiving pity during meals, anyway.

"Jeez. You aren't really listening to any of this, are you? You're just enamored with the stew I made!"

"And what a great stew it is."

He offered a playful smirk before swallowing the spoonful, allowing himself time to reestablish his typical earnestness.

"In all seriousness, though, you always had my attention. In fact, I'm sincerely grateful that you care. I was just thinking over another matter just then."

Leila's face softened, even though her tone of voice refused to let her irritation go.

"Well… what in the world could have been as important as talking about your well-being?"

"Reconsidering your enrollment into military school, for one."

His words broke the girl out of her troubled state and she turned to him startled, giving him an unobstructed view of her mauve eyes. They seemed to contain a myriad of emotions – surprise, joy, anticipation, and, perhaps most noteworthy, suspicion.

"R-really? But didn't you say that only a victory would change your mind?"

"Extraneous circumstances have caused me to reassess. But that's all I can promise – a reassessment."

Indeed; he'd pondered his options for some time after his self-reflections post-chess match. In principle, the idea of reintroducing the girl into E.U. politics had the potential for detriment. Even without accounting for her hidden identity, she was still a more than competent tactician that was bound to cultivate resentment with her ideologies that opposed Europia's. And, while prior ruminations in his study had ridiculed him for depriving Leila of a proper chance to explain her case, his responsibility as her foster parent also prioritized her protection above all.

That said, he could only note bemusedly that the words of restraint did nothing to stem the flow of hopeful eagerness on Leila's face.

"Well, in that case, is there anything I can do to improve my chances?"

He took a long sip of water before responding.

"Perhaps you could restate your rationale for applying."

Her stew forgotten, Leila placed her elbows on the tabletop; no doubt choosing her words carefully.

"Well, as I've said before, I think a military academy would satisfy my need for social interaction with my peers. Not to mention that it would help me find a practical use for my strategic mindset."

"Fair arguments, indeed." He studied her carefully before continuing. "Though, being that I know you much better than I did three years ago, I can also provide novel counterpoints."

He set his glass down carefully.

"True, you have a knack for military tactics, and it would be a shame if those skills weren't put to good use. But you don't have a particularly strong sense of nationalism. And you must have realized by now that many of the E.U's policies go against your political philosophies. Wouldn't it be more advantageous, then, if your means of social interaction didn't involve pledging allegiance to a nation?"

The clean-cut analysis was met with silence as amethyst looked on flippantly. For a moment, it seemed to him that Leila would be left in a perpetual state of bewilderment. But, of course, his 'daughter' was hardly one to take things lying down.

"Be that as it may, I… I still have motivations that I haven't told you of yet."

"Then perhaps you could enlighten me."

Leila let out a noise halfway between a sigh and a balk, but finally reestablished her composure.

"Well… I'm not sure if you remember, but three years ago, I asked you whether you knew anything about my parents' murder."

He continued to stare evenly.

"After you told me that you didn't, I decided to research the circumstance myself. And, being that my parents were Britannian defectors, I eventually concluded that the Empire had some hand in their murder. Be that indirect or otherwise."

His eyes gave nothing away, but he was nevertheless surprised. Impetus derived from a past circumstance, he'd expected. But vengeance? He'd hoped to be lenient out of reconciliation for his past mistakes, but the irony surrounding _that_ was too suffocating to take lightly.

"You mean to say, then, that retribution drives you toward an education characterized by violence?" His words, while gentle in articulation, nonetheless maintained a pained edge. "I didn't believe you were someone that would be cynical enough to take something like that lightly."

He watched mutely, then, as Leila temporarily floundered for an other rebuttal. Perhaps she may have taken less kindly to his tone than he'd expected, if her wordless reaction was any indication. But he still had no illusions that, inevitably, mauve would meet amethyst in fierce defiance.

And defiant those eyes were.

"But I'm not taking it lightly, Lelouch." The anticipated words maintained a newfound maturity almost uncharacteristic for the girl's age. "I know I'm the biological daughter of a political demagogue. I know I'm the lone witness to an assassination that took the lives of both of my parents. But I also know that the military is the only means I have to ensure that others will never suffer the same misfortune as me."

The retort was met with a pensive blink, and for a moment, he was tempted to accept the nobility of the justification at face value. Though fortunately or, perhaps, unfortunately, experience still won out over impulse.

"Be that as it may, I still know how dangerous the path your walking on now is. I myself was proven utterly mistaken, even though I had believed that I was capable of marching unflinchingly toward my goals in the past."

"But look at you now! You turned out fine in the end, didn't you?"

"I can completely assure you that I did _not_ turn out fine." He wiped his hands on a napkin, and sighed heavily. "You must be aware of some of my unsavory habits, correct? They're vices that I developed at fourteen as means to my goals, Leila. _Fourteen_. Neither man nor woman should have such a single-minded outlook that they learn to excel at _that_."

A survey of the room seemingly offered no retort, and he concluded tiredly.

"Please; understand. My overarching concern is primarily your protection. I'll reevaluate your arguments later tonight and tell you my answer tomorrow, but you have to realize that-"

"Then why don't you just tell me how to avoid the mistakes you made!" The unexpected words came as a shout, and he nearly flinched at their intensity. "Even if you're right – even if I only have the motivation, but no wisdom to see what comes next – at least let me prove myself! I don't need you to make choices for me as my protector; I need you to help me every step of the way as my accomplice!"

Perhaps it was the choice of terminology that put him off. Or maybe the continuation of a seemingly concluded conversation was the cause. Regardless, however, the true gravity of the plea was lost to him by the provocation of past anguish. And resultantly, the sheer ice in his tone was almost overwhelming.

"Leila. Need I remind you that I only ensured a reassessment? This is hardly the platform for an actual argument."

"But you need to understand this Lelouch!" Her fervent tone implied that passion was too far gone to be reasoned with. "You're the best, if not only, advisor that I could ever ask for! Why must you always run scared from this option instead of utilizing your wisdom to help me?"

"Because war isn't like chess, Leila!" He nearly winced at the ferocity of his own words, but nevertheless maintained composure. "My mistake when I grew up was that I had too much confidence in the assets surrounding me. It doesn't matter if you have an immortal witch as a partner, or none at all. You can't prepare for everything militaristically, and I don't want you getting hurt because of it. Not when I have the chance to keep it from happening."

"And who said I wanted to be shielded from these dangers, Lelouch?" Mauve was ablaze now, and she threw her arms out wide. "I don't want to be left living a life of comfort away from the reality of the world! This academy is my only means of taking action!"

"That sort of single-minded mentality is what makes your thinking naïve." His speech had cooled in volume, though it cut in with no less vehemence. "Between your underlying motivations and the path you're following itself, you're bound to walk straight into hell."

"Is that what you think?" The gasp was incredulous. "That fighting for the lesser of two evils is pointless because it could cause my destruction? That there's no merit to protecting others, so long as the possibility of my undoing remains?"

"That's not just what I think, Leila. That's what I _know_."

He watched mutely as she ground her teeth in frustration; testing words that could obliterate the increasingly fragile civility in the room.

"Then you're more selfish that I gave you credit for, Lelouch. No matter how much I want to be like you, I can't escape the fact that you'll only see me as Nunnally."

The venomous retort was met with a deafening silence, and for a moment, he could only purse his lips, dumbstruck. Thereafter, it would only take a second for Leila's own eyes to widen at the contemptibility of her behavior, but by then, the damage had been done.

"Lelouch… I-I didn't mean-"

"Leila."

The hand held up in response was instinctive, and he weakly sighed at the room's sudden return to silence. Perhaps if the conversation hadn't already taken its emotional toll, his response to the girl's audacity would have been much more severe. But at the present, he had only the energy to digest her claim – the very fear that he'd barely touched on during his prior self-analysis. And, as he slowly reviewed the whole of their past exchange to boot, he spared a soft grunt at his failure to recognize his own hypocrisy.

"Just… bring me my laptop from the study."

Rising up from his chair thereafter, he glanced passingly at the fearful eyes that remained honed onto his every move.

"A-alright, Lelouch. But may I ask why?"

He gave her his full attention, then. Two amethyst orbs that accepted an alternative responsibility. One that finally understood that recognizing his own misguided complacency in his study had only been half the battle.

"Because. Even though I recognize that you're right, you still need some hair dye and colored contacts." He couldn't help but snort wearily at the girl's befuddlement. "What? After all of that, didn't you realize that you'd need more than a forged adoption paper to protect your identity?"

* * *

"Your father is quite an ambitious man, isn't he?"

Suzaku's eyes narrowed at the remark, and he shifted his eyes toward the boy across from him. The two of them had kept a mutual silence in his living room while their fathers had discussed Britannian relations behind closed doors. Yet while he'd done his best to refrain from eavesdropping, he had to concede that Genbu was still a terrible whisperer.

"And what are you implying there, Shin?"

The smirk on Shin's face only grew haughtier, and he made the conscious effort not to wipe it off his face. He harbored no resentment for the Hyuga's – they'd always been in his father's favor – but he'd always detested contempt. Especially when he was its victim.

"Well, you're listening to them too, aren't you?" Shin mused. "Mindlessly going on about the importance of nationalism and pride.

"The Japanese people are more than deserving of it." His scowl deepened. "I see no problem with that."

"The principle itself is not the problem, no." Shin threw his hands out wide. "The problem is that your father is deluding himself into thinking that it's a feasible approach to foreign policy."

"And what makes that so wrong?" He retorted. "Japan has a resource that makes even superpowers beg for our favor. Is there not a sense of sovereignty to be gained from that?"

" _Beg_? For _our_ favor?" Shin laughed. "Oh, Suzaku. If you truly believe that, you're just as much of a fool as your father is." An amused look graced green orbs. "See what I mean?"

He blinked, momentarily bewildered by the implication, before recognizing his compromising position. Apparently, he'd unconsciously risen from his seat, one hand on Shin's shoulder, while another reared back to punch off the boy's ever-increasing smirk.

A small part of him wish he'd committed before returning to his senses.

"… Fine. You've made your point."

Begrudgingly, he let the boy go, collapsing resignedly back into his seat across the table. "Now explain it _without_ the use of slander."

Shin's smile never faded, and for a moment, he thought it looked more satisfied than contemptuous.

"Very well. Consider this, then. Would Japan emerge victorious if Britannia declared war?"

He jerked his head, surprised. What had possessed him to come up with _that_ question?

"Well… technologically, perhaps we would be at a disadvantage. But Japanese discipline and territorial familiarity are comparable assets."

"Discipline? Territory?" The ridicule was clear in Shin's voice. "Come now, Suzaku. Haven't heard of Washington's Rebellion? How it _failed_ because the rebels relied too much on guerilla warfare?"

"This is Japan, not North America, Shin." He frowned. "But fine. Take military tactics, then. Haven't you heard that General Tohdoh has the brightest strategic mind of this generation?"

"And haven't _you_ heard that 2nd Prince Schneizel conquered the whole of Indochina without a single tactical loss?" The boy's tone had an edge of exasperation. "It's not just him, either. I've even heard that Princess Alexis has just as much, if not more, strategic promise than her brother."

"Well… then what about the other superpowers?" His voice took on the slightest trace of doubt. "Do you really think they'd stand by if Britannia tried to monopolize Sakuradite?"

"Don't be so quick to underestimate the allure of complacency." Shin's fingers began to roll on his armrest. "The EU's bureaucratic tape makes it hardly fit to take action, and the Chinese Federation's decadence is nearly palpable." The boy's voice hardened. "No one, and I mean no one, would even be _willing_ to come to our aid."

The sudden tone of absolution caught him off guard, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. Japan was his home. The paragon of everything he believed in. To think that Shin would dismiss all of its strengths without a second thought was more than just disheartening. It was completely overwhelming.

"… Alright. Perhaps I overstated Japan's chances." His eyes bored into Shin's own. "But these are nevertheless hypotheticals. What in the world do they have to do with my father?"

"They have _everything_ to do with your father, Suzaku." For a moment, he could have sworn Shin had rolled his eyes. "Come now, think! Nationalism; pride. Your father is planning to take an unrelenting economic stance against the most egotistical empire in history. Do you not see the idiocy behind that idea?"

Realization struck him, and he nearly flinched at the revelation.

"You… you're saying we could go to war."

"Not could. _Will_."

Shin's voice lowered considerably, and he made up for it by rising from his seat.

"My own father is of the same mind, you know? Right now, he's doubtlessly egging on the fires of pride in your father's heart. Of course, it may take a week for his efforts to bear fruit. A month. Maybe even a year. But war _will_ happen." The boy's speech dropped to a whisper. "And I can't let Akito – my own brother – live through that hell."

"Look…" he eyed Shin carefully before sighing. "Even if you're right, even if your predictions come true; there's nothing we can truly do about it. We still have to work within the confines of the system. So, if anything, just try to have a little more faith in Japan."

"Perhaps there's nothing that _I_ can do, yes." Slowly, Shin's eyes met his own. "But don't be so certain that you fall under those same constraints."

His eyebrows rose. "What are you–"

"Did you forget that you're the _Prime Minister's_ son? The heir apparent to the nation we both love?" The words struck a chord, and he almost didn't realize that Shin made way closer to his person. "You could speak words of temperance to your father. Call foul against his political advisors. Hell, I'd even support you if you took on my own father."

"But…" Numerous protests fell short of his tongue, and he settled rather meekly. "It's not that simple, Shin."

"And why not?" The boy's eyes gleamed with fervor. "All it takes is a single spark to light a fire. A single flicker to cut through the darkness. Who's to say that a single man can't change the fate of an entire nation?"

"I…" He gave a shaky breath and slumped his shoulders. "I could fail."

"Yes, you could. But you could also succeed." Slowly, Shin closed the distance between them. "It's one thing if you were born powerless, but you have the opportunity to make a difference. You, and you alone, have the potential to save Japan from the possibility of destruction."

Shin had risen behind him now, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Besides. I wouldn't worry even if you couldn't get through to your father."

He paused, bewildered, before offering a hesitant reply.

"… How do you figure that?"

The boy smiled.

"Because, Suzaku. If all else fails..."

Shin's lips were at his ear now, and it was all he could do not to visibly flinch.

... Japan could always use a new 'king.'"

* * *

Author's Note

I'm back from the dead, as they say, and I must say this chapter was a piece of work. Initially, I had intended for an additional scene in Leila's point of view, but I could never juxtapose it well with the cynicism of Shin's section. To that end, this chapter underwent several rewrites and deletions before I even managed to present it onto fanfiction. But, I hope it was worth the wait, even if it was relatively short. The back-and-forth dialogues between Lelouch-Leila and Suzaku-Shin were quite fun for me to write, after all (even if they caused me a considerable amount of pain while constructing them).

In any case, this story _will_ get finished with any luck. Right now, I'm experimenting with the Persona fandom (Persona 5 has consumed my life) so there may be a story in the works for that. I'm also planning on touching up the previous chapters of this story (namely, Chapter 3) in my spare time. As for comments about future Pawnless updates, this chapter, as well as the next, will be setting the groundwork for the complete shitstorm that will happen in chapters 6 and 7. And I look forward to writing that _immensely_.


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